Axeviathon- Son of Dragons

by Tessa Dawn

  Hell, even a well-tossed grenade would bounce off Ghost’s scales, and releasing the thick, hardened armor would be instinctive, the moment the missile was tossed in his direction.

  Perhaps a cannon or a B-52 Bomber would do the trick, but for that, he’d have to visit a war zone. And where was Ghost going to find a B-52 Bomber, conveniently flying through the air, scanning the ground for a strange and dangerous supernatural creature to strike with its entire payload? He would have a better chance of finding Michael Myers or Jason Voorhees, fictional characters from human horror flicks.

  Perhaps he could take a stroll through a field littered with land mines, do his damnedest to hold back his scales and set off so many explosions in a row that something finally hit a vital organ. But then again, so what? Unless the damn things blew his head off and ripped his amulet from around his neck, his immortal heart would keep right on ticking until Lord Dragos could sew him back up. Hell, Ghost was the antithesis of Humpty Dumpty—the dragon gods could always put him back together again!

  But that didn’t mean he couldn’t do his best to get into trouble.

  Do his best to incite his father.

  That didn’t mean Lord Dragos could never be provoked to kill his own Genesis Son.

  Yeah, Ghost was going to head earthside and see what he could see.

  Who knew?

  Maybe he’d commit a crime so abhorrent the humans would lock him up—and he’d let them. Fast-forward to execution—now, wouldn’t that be a hoot?—Ghost could watch the Homo sapiens watching him with surprise when their lethal injection didn’t do jack shit or the electric chair shorted out. Did humans still even use that contraption? He could wait until they chopped him up into itty-bitty pieces and accidentally got that amulet off.

  Whatever.

  He’d figure it out when he got there.

  Reaching for his amulet, he thumbed the flawless diamond and opened the portal. If nothing else, he could work off some nervous energy, piss off his dad, and provoke the kind of beating that would make the punishment Ghost had given Axe look like child’s play.

  If nothing else, Ghost deserved that much…

  Chapter Thirty

  Earthside

  Trader Vice sank into the shadows behind a dead, rotting cottonwood tree rooted along the bank of a dry canal. The night air was balmy—calm, warm, and still—and Amber Carpenter was traversing the field, heading in Trader, Tony, Zeik, and Grunge’s direction like a little lamb winding her way to the slaughter.

  She had no earthly idea what was waiting for her beneath the pale, leaden moonlight.

  But that wasn’t the shit that got Trader excited.

  No, the pagan sin-eater was almost aroused by the scent wafting to his keen, flared nostrils: the scent of a powerful dragyri male following the human girl like a lovesick bitch. Trader had to suppress the urge to laugh out loud. So, the son of a hyena thought he could just render his body invisible and take out the human without a single glitch. He had no idea he was walking into an ambush, that he was the guest of honor.

  Zeik, Grunge, you pickin’ up on this shit? Trader called to his demon companions telepathically.

  If a grin could be heard through a telepathic transmission, then Zeik Craven was grinning from ear to ear. Yeah, I can smell that crap, he grunted.

  Twenty paces behind his girl, Grunge cut in.

  Trader shook his head as he turned his attention to Antonio Rossi—the poor, pitiful Italian was waving his arms, jumping up and down from inside the bottom of the dry creek bed, trying to get Amber’s attention. Did he really think his demon cohorts gave a flying fig about his love life or his plan to retrieve his girl?

  This shit was going off like clockwork…

  Amber saw Tony waving and made an instant course-correction, picking up her speed and heading in the human’s direction, even as Zeik and Grunge rose from beneath the earth, about ten feet east of the riverbed, like specters arising from a shallow grave, and made their presence known.

  Amber skidded to a halt.

  And the dragyri male flashed into view, dropping his invisible camo with a quickness.

  So, it was Axeviathon Saphyrius, after all, and the male was radiating all kinds of angry, protective, no-nonsense power: sapphire, citrine, and emerald?

  What the hell?

  Trader grew instantly serious; it would take all three demons to bring Axe down, and the goal was not to behead him, but to get his huge, hulking ass back to Lord Drakkar—to usher the male to the underworld as a trophy!

  Zeik moved first. He covered the meadow in two seconds flat, hurdled the riverbed, and dove at Axe, wielding his powerful fists like a battering ram, one lightning-fast blow after another, aimed at the dragyri’s face.

  Axe blocked that shit like he had second sight and tunnel vision, knocking each punch away with ease before landing a blow of his own—a wicked, powerful uppercut—right to the center of the demon’s rib cage. The splintering bones crackled and popped, and Grunge dove into the fray. He summersaulted over the two tangling males and landed on Axe’s back, anchoring one arm around the dragyri’s throat.

  “Amber, help me out!” Tony was extending his hand to the girl, trying to crawl out of the riverbed—that human piece of trash was going to try to make a break for it.

  Try to take the girl and run…

  “There’s nowhere you can hide,” Trader growled, slinking from behind the cottonwood. “We get Axe; you get your girl. You try any other foul, duplicitous shit, and your bitch-ass is dead. Comprende?”

  Tony’s glassy green eyes grew wide.

  Yeah, he got it…

  Tony motioned for Amber to step back and retrieved a loaded Luger P08 from the back of his belt, also revealing a leather sheath containing two lethal stilettos, and took several retreating steps in the bottom of the ravine, even as he nodded his head. “Just get him down here,” he murmured, mustering new courage and referring to Axe.

  Axeviathon released a menacing set of jagged fangs and sank them into Grunge’s arm. He bit down hard, snarled like a rabid beast, and wrenched his head from side to side, tearing a hunk of flesh from the demon’s arm.

  Grunge grunted, but he did not let go.

  Axe dropped into a squat, tucked his head forward, and flipped the sin-eater over his back. And then he fell downward, bent his right leg, and slammed his knee into Grunge’s face.

  The sin-eater’s nose exploded.

  But Zeik was now back on his feet.

  One hand braced against his shattered rib cage, the other fisting the hilt of a dagger, Zeik leaned over Axe and stabbed him in the neck, sinking the blade to the hilt about three inches forward of the trapezius and two inches above the clavicle—right before the neck met the shoulder.

  Axeviathon growled in pain…and fury.

  And that’s when Amber screamed—so the female was finally starting to get the picture.

  “Amber, run!” Axe shouted, wrenching the blood-soaked blade from his neck, twirling it through his dexterous fingers, and thrusting it upward into Zeik’s exposed groin. He nailed Zeik’s right gonad like he was playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey, and the otherwise invincible pagan hit the deck.

  Meanwhile, Grunge spit out a mouthful of blood and saliva, grasped Axe by both ankles, and tugged. The dragyri fell onto his back, and Grunge tried to drag him, snake him forward, pull him closer to Tony and the ditch.

  Axe wrenched one leg free and stomped Grunge in the face, dragging a spiked spur across the demon’s eyes. And then the dragyri got well and truly pissed. His skin hardened, calcifying into leathery scales, and he threw back his head and roared. The meadow shook, the ground began to undulate, and several dead branches on the cottonwood tree snapped and fell to the ground.

  And then a sweltering, glowing red flame erupted from the dragyri’s throat, streamed forward in an arc, and scorched the earth in front of the sapphire dragyri’s feet, engulfing both Zeik and Grunge in the fire.

  The demons were smart enough t
o get the hell out of Dodge—they both pulled a vanishing act at once, reappearing on the other side of the ravine, next to Trader, where they could heal their injuries and swiftly regroup.

  Shiiiiit…

  Trader had had enough of the nonsense.

  Any minute now, the entire Sapphire Lair was going to appear in the field, and the element of surprise would be lost—the ambush would be over. And that meant, between Requiem Pyre and Lord Drakkar, Trader would be nothing more than a memory, the ghost of a demon whose soulless black heart had been ripped out by his king or Drak’s sorcerer.

  Hell.

  No.

  Trader wasn’t going out like that.

  He moved so quickly his lunge was a blur; snatched Amber by her dark-gold hair; and dragged her back to the edge of the ravine, to the outer and upper bank of the dry riverbed. “Axeviathon,” he snarled. “Watch me kill this bitch!” He ran the tip of his tongue along the length of her jugular, held his left arm in the air for added drama and effect, and released the demonic turquoise-and-black tiger snake.

  The serpent struck Amber posthaste, sinking its fangs deep into her neck, but Trader hesitated to release the fast-acting, lethal venom…just yet. Amber was far too useful as a pawn and a lure. The way Trader saw it, the dragyri couldn’t risk bathing both Trader and Amber in scorching flames—the male would have to get up close and personal to save his dragyra—and that was exactly where Trader wanted him.

  The realization must’ve hit the dragyri because Axe jackknifed off the ground, landed on his heavy feet, and dove through the air like a rocket, at Trader.

  The wily demon was ready.

  He withdrew the snakebite, shuffled to the side, and spewed a torrent of acid into the air.

  As Axe’s head jerked back and his talons sliced forward, Trader spun around with the speed of a preternatural turbine and elbowed the dragyri in the chest. Axe’s large, hulking body jerked upon impact, changed course in midair, and flew into the ravine.

  And just like a good, dutiful human, Tony unloaded the Luger P08.

  But Trader wasn’t about to stop there!

  He understood his true mission, and he understood it well.

  Bracing both palms on his knees, he began to heave…and retch…and heave…

  And retch…

  Until the once-dry riverbed filled to the brim with Requiem Pyre’s viscous, granular, iniquitous quicksand and Axeviathon Saphyrius sank like the lost Titanic, deep into the paralyzing concoction, all the way up to his neck.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Amber watched in stupefied horror as the grisly scene played out in front of her.

  She had tried to run—she really had—but she hadn’t gotten more than fifty yards when that giant of a demon, Trader, had snatched her by the hair, dragged her back to the edge of the riverbed, and released a freakin’ blue-and-black snake that had bitten her in the neck.

  Those fangs had felt like two rusty nails—worse than that really, the sting of a dozen scorpions at once—but for some strange reason, it hadn’t released any venom. At least Amber didn’t think it had, because in that case she would already be dead.

  And oh, gods, oh gods, oh gods, Zeik had stabbed Axe in the neck; Tony had shot him multiple times; and now the immortal dragyri was practically drowning in front of all of them, stuck in some bizarre, thick, unnatural substance—Axeviathon couldn’t move or fight!

  What was it Trader had said?

  “We get Axe; you get your girl…”

  The whole damn thing had been a setup all along!

  Amber had followed Tony; Axe had followed Amber; and Zeik and Grunge had been waiting from the start—everyone had known, but her.

  Amber’s stomach heaved, and she felt light-headed.

  Yet, as much as every instinct in her body told her to run—get away from the riverbed and at least try to hide—she couldn’t look away from the morbid scene in front of her.

  It was all happening so fast.

  Too fast…

  Axe’s features were strained—he was trying to move, but for some unknown reason, he was virtually powerless. He couldn’t even spit fire from his throat, and unlike that night in Amber’s living room…her and Tony’s master bedroom…the Sapphire Lair was not showing up.

  Amber gulped, and her heart began to beat a cacophony in her chest, threatening to rupture the cavity. Trader was sliding down the bank of the riverbed, swimming through the supernatural quicksand—why wasn’t it paralyzing him, too?—and slowly making his way toward Axe, even as Tony had retrieved a stiletto, waded out into the center of the channel, and creeped like a slinking predator, coming up behind Axe.

  Oh, gods!

  Oh, no…

  What the hell…what the hell…

  What the hell!

  Tony looked positively possessed, his crystal-green eyes growing dark with shadows—with desperation—as he brought the dagger forward, swung his arm around Axe’s neck, and drew the blade crosswise, against Axe’s throat.

  Amber screamed!

  And so did Trader…

  “Rossi! What the fuck! We need him alive. Back off, Tony—let us take it from here!”

  Tony wasn’t listening.

  It was as if he were deaf.

  He began to saw the stiletto back and forth, carving Axe’s neck with the blade, and Amber’s knees gave out beneath her: Mother of Mercy, he was beheading Axe right in front of her.

  Her mouth fell open, and something slipped out of it, something akin to a keening wail. With every slice of the sharp, silver stiletto, Amber felt like a piece of her heart was being sliced in two…as if Tony were carving them both to ribbons.

  Her body began to tremble uncontrollably, and then it struck her—

  The stiletto!

  The stilettos…

  Tony had been hiding a Luger P08 in his belt, along with two concealed stilettos in a leather sheath, and when he had reached out to Amber for aid—Amber, help me out!—she had reached toward Tony with her right hand extended and slipped the second stiletto out of the sheath with her left, tossing it behind her, onto the ground.

  How the hell had she forgotten that?

  Axeviathon groaned in pain, even as Tony kept slicing at his throat, and all of a sudden, the moonlight brightened, the air around the field grew eerily still, and Trader, Zeik, and Grunge’s angry protests dimmed until they were practically muted.

  Time stood still.

  Amber glanced behind her shoulder…

  She could run now. She could truly get away. All three supernatural males were hyper-focused on Axe, and no one would notice her escape.

  Needless to say, Axe would never come after her—the male would be dead and gone.

  Amber could finally be free.

  Free!

  Not owned or claimed by anyone.

  And then she heard a harsh, desperate, singular voice rising up from the riverbed, out of the quicksand: “Amber girl, run…get out of here while you can.”

  Axeviathon…

  And he sounded utterly desperate and resigned.

  Amber’s eyes filled with tears, and her heart filled with shame.

  This son of a sapphire dragon was going to die for her.

  She scrambled to her hands and knees and started searching the ground in earnest, dragging her fingernails through the dirt, and swiping her palms over the wild grass, again…and again…and again.

  Where was it!

  Where is it!

  She pounded the dirt with her fist…

  Where the fuck is that stiletto!

  Axeviathon Saphyrius did his level best to ignore the indescribable pain, to keep from crying out in agony or dying with shame. Nine or ten more swipes with that stiletto, and Tony was going to strike Axe’s bone—and then there would be little left, but time and anguish, until a blasted human male removed Axe’s amulet.

  It seemed too surreal to be true.

  After two and a quarter centuries of living…

  And Amber, A
xe’s beautiful, strong dragyra, she was standing on the bank of the riverbed, watching Axe die.

  Shit, this nightmare just got worse and worse…

  Axe couldn’t move a muscle, not even a twitch, and he couldn’t call out to his lair mates—it was as if even his neurons were firing through sludge.

  At first, when the demons had initially revealed their presence and Grunge had struck so fast, Axe hadn’t had time to think about anything other than defending himself and protecting Amber—and then trying to get that freakin’ snake off her throat. Reaching out to Zane, Jace, Levi, or Nakai had been the last thing on the dragyri’s mind. And that momentary hesitation—that split-second decision—was about to cost him his life.

  “Amber girl, run…get out of here while you can.” He tried to croak out the sound through a raw, dissected throat, but all Amber had done was stare ahead, blankly, and then crawl around on the ground. She was digging in the dirt, swiping at the dried, prickly wild grass, and pounding her fists in frustration—what the hell was his sweet angel doing?

  And then just like that, Amber jumped to her feet, turned around, and ran.

  Good!

  Finally.

  Axe let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

  At least if his dragyra got away—

  What…

  What the hell…

  What was she doing now?

  She careened to a stop, about ten yards out, turned around to face the riverbed, and narrowed her stunning amber eyes into machine-like focus. Both gleaming pupils were like mechanical lasers, fixed unerringly on Axe and Tony.

  And then she started running forward, pumping her arms for speed, her long, amber hair flapping behind her as she came faster and faster…and faster. Her left heel hit the edge of the bank, and she pushed off her foot like an Olympic sprinter trying to clear an impossibly high hurdle, springing into the air. Axe’s gaze flashed molten as he watched his dragyra fly to the middle of the ravine, land on top of the human behind him, and drive a fisted stiletto downward, deep into Tony’s skull. She was grunting…screaming…driving it home, and all the air left Axe’s body.